Gwen swallowed hard and finished the cocktail Isobelle had ordered. “So if—if—I agree to this . . . what happens next?”

Isobelle’s eyes lit with delight, glowing like miniature sapphire stars. “Oh, Gwen—”

“I said if!” Gwen interrupted, trying desperately not to smile like some spell-charmed idiot in response to the other girl’s giddy relief. “Wipe that grin off your face.”

Isobelle made a token effort to sheathe her dimples. “Well, you come to the castle in the morning, and we’ll get you settled in, and then—”

The door of the tavern banged open with a loud, shuddering crash. Gwen started to her feet, but she couldn’t see what was happening through the crowds of people on the dance floor. The fiddle music petered out, the dancers halted, conversation and laughter and cheers evaporated into tense, frightened silence. The crowds began to shrink back from the door, revealing a posse of half a dozen intruders.

Men in matching armor bearing the red-and-bronze emblem of Darkhaven, their swords drawn.

The castle guard.

Their leader, a short but burly man with a large, bushy blond mustache, addressed the crowd. “Break it up, girls—go home quietly. We’re not here for you.”

No one moved.

The man scowled slightly and glanced around at the now-silent crowd. “What a circus.” He strode a few more steps into the room. “We’re here for the woman claiming to own this place. Where is she?”

Isobelle started to rise, her body tensing. Gwen, her heart shriveling at the phrasing of the guard’s demand, put a hand over Isobelle’s. One of the waitstaff who’d been helping to deliver drinks stepped forward, her chin lifting. “She ain’t here, mister.”

The mustachioed guard snorted, eyeing the girl with disdain. “Here or not, we’re shutting this place down. Unlicensed hedge witchery on the premises.”

This was too much for Isobelle, who lurched to her feet despite Gwen’s warning. “Hedge witchery?” she sputtered. “On whose say-so?”

The guard’s gaze traveled toward Isobelle and his eyes widened as he realized he was speaking to a noblewoman. “That’s confidential, my lady. But it’s obviously true. Here, look at that list of potions there.” He jerked his chin toward the board bearing the list of cocktails.

“Those aren’t potions!” Isobelle objected, her eyes blazing. “They’re drinks!”

The guard seemed to find Isobelle’s gaze nearly as difficult to withstand as Gwen, but he managed, gritting his teeth. “If the woman called Jinna is not here, we’ll take this one in her place to speak for her,” he said, reaching out to take the arm of the waiter who’d spoken earlier.

“Enough!” Jinna made her way through the crowd, her eyes flat, her lips set. “Enough, let her go. I’m the one you’re after.”

The guard looked her up and down, matching her up to some mental description. “You’re to come with us.”